


Boy H.E.R.O.

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Elevator Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mix the Oscars and the Nobel Prize Ceremony, add purple carpet, golden orbs and the designer team of Malfoy & Malfoy, and you have the Wizarding H.E.R.O. awards. When Harry Potter and Severus Snape – who have spent eight years pushing each other’s buttons – are both nominated for Humanitarian Achievement of the Year, will they finally begin to realize that appearances are just skin deep and that there’s more to each other than each realized?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy H.E.R.O.

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N** : Many, many thanks to accio, who did not make the writing process _easier_ , but whose comments and input certainly made this story better. Thanks also to badgerlady, whose sharp eyes and excellent grammar continue to save me from myself.

~~~

_August 2006_

The Annual Wizarding Humanitarian Awards Ceremony had an inauspicious beginning.

Seven years previous, on the Eve of the first Remembrance Day, the Ministry presented engraved winged globes to the witches and wizards who had helped end Voldemort’s regime. It had been a rather somber gathering in a formal Ministry ballroom, marked by tears and hugs and toasts to the fallen.

A year after the war, with the threat of Voldemort gone, lesser evils, too small to notice while Voldemort held power, rose to the surface. Vanquishing them became the focus of Aurors – despite their greatly reduced numbers – and of others in the fields of science, and education, and medicine, and politics.

Wizards didn’t have television and film actors. Their musicians had a fervent following, but wizards were nearly as avid about Muggle groups. Politicians were viewed in roughly the same way they were in the Muggle world – a necessary evil. As far as sports went, Quidditch was it. And while Quidditch stars were certainly idolized by many, in the absence of televised matches and paparazzi following their every move, athletes didn’t have quite the universal celebrity status they had in the Muggle world.

But what the magical world did have were good witches and wizards who did great things. 

So, in the space of seven years, the Humanitarian Awards had grown in prestige, and the Annual Humanitarian Awards _ceremony_ itself had became an _event_. It offered an eclectic mixture of esteemed philanthropists, scientists, researchers and humanitarians in an atmosphere that more and more resembled a Muggle red carpet movie premiere. 

Leave it to the Ministry of Magic to give the event sponsorship to the new designer team of Malfoy & Malfoy, thus creating the rather ridiculous juxtaposition of fashion, fame, photographers and philanthropy.

On the evening of the Eighth Annual H.E.R.O.s (Humanitarian Efforts of the Remarkably Outstanding) Awards Ceremony, the nominees and presenters were gathered in a well-appointed parlor off the grand atrium, directly opposite the Ministry’s ballroom theater. Champagne – good champagne, donated by the evening’s sponsors – flowed freely, and house-elves offered hor devours on silver trays polished to a blinding shine. Outside the door, a deep purple carpet, framed on either side by gold velvet roping strung between purple-tasseled posts, led to the great doors of the terraced theater. The witches and wizards inside mingled and chatted nervously, each waiting a turn to make his or her way across the atrium to be photographed with the Minister of Magic, shake hands with various European magical heads of state, and be interviewed by several leading Wizarding publications. 

The nature of the Wizarding H.E.R.O.s resulted in many persons not accustomed to being in the public eye stepping out onto that carpet.

Enter Malfoy & Malfoy.

After the war, with Lucius Malfoy incarcerated, Narcissa and Draco had paid out numerous reparations and then quietly disappeared from society for two years. When they reappeared, they were Malfoy & Malfoy, designers and creators of Wizarding apparel. And despite the name – or perhaps, in part, because of it – everyone wanted a Malfoy & Malfoy original. Blending fashion forward Muggle formalwear with the classic, traditional designs and fabrics still popular among magical folk, Malfoy & Malfoy succeeded both in recreating themselves and moving British Wizarding fashion forward by several centuries.

Even Harry Potter appreciated what the mirror showed him when he was in his Malfoy & Malfoy dress robes.

He was wearing them now –a new set in maroon silk so dark it was more black than red – even though it made him feel slightly uncomfortable to possess something so expensive, something probably hand-stitched by Malfoy house-elves.

“Are you sure?” he asked Severus for the third time in less than an hour, keeping his voice carefully low. “We don’t have to do it this way.”

Severus frowned. “It was your idea, was it not?”

Harry jerked his head in a nod. “Yes. It was. But….”

“We have discussed this. Many times. I am sure.”

Severus stood beside him, champagne in one hand, plate of cheese wedges in the other. There was enough space between them for another person to stand, and Severus’ body language did not convey nervousness about his situation, nor any more than a passing interest in the man standing beside him.

 _Master Spy,_ Harry reminded himself. Given what they were about to do, Severus had to be more nervous than he looked.

Harry fiddled with the cuff of his robes, then glanced up at Severus, finding the resolve he was currently lacking in Severus’ eyes. “All right then.” He took a deep breath. “All right. We’re doing this.”

“We are doing this,” repeated Severus. He raised his champagne flute and nodded politely to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry mirrored his gesture.

“This is nothing like last year,” said Harry, under his breath.

“No, it is not,” agreed Severus. “Nothing like last year at all.”

~~~

__

One Year Previous - August 2005

Harry Potter stepped onto the purple carpet and took Ginny’s outstretched hand.

“You could do this without me,” Ginny said through her carefully placed smile, her voice soft in Harry’s ear. “Though I do appreciate the new robes.” She laced her fingers with his. “Two o’clock. Big smile.”

They turned together, hands clasped, and posed for _Witch Weekly._

“I just don’t understand how the H.E.R.O.s have gotten like this,” Harry complained. “Do you remember the first year? No one had designer dress robes or rented jewelry. And after-parties? Who would have ever thought to throw a party after a party?”

“You know perfectly well how they’ve gotten like this,” she said, “or better yet, _who’s_ behind it.” They queued up to be photographed with the Minister of Magic. “And I can stand it one day a year,” she continued. She lifted a hand and waved at Luna, who, oddly enough, was the photographer today, not the interviewer, for the _Quibbler_. “Promise me that next year you’ll bring an actual date, Harry. Someone who makes you smile.”

Harry squinted and adjusted his glasses. Yes, Luna _was_ holding the camera backwards, lens pointed at her own face.

“You make me smile,” he said, squeezing Ginny’s hand. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

She laughed. “How could I not in an original Malfoy & Malfoy?” She smoothed a hand down the fine silk of her form-fitting, silver robes. 

“And with that goblin-made silver necklace,” he said, grinning. 

“And your mum’s earrings.” Twin emeralds, paired with diamonds, sparkled and swung on thin silver chains.

“I want you to keep those,” said Harry, squeezing her hand.

“Oh, Harry. No. It’s too much, really. You’ve already bought me the robes.”

“No, I mean it,” he said. “I really appreciate you coming with me.” He looked around, sighing. “Again. And this is the last time – I promise.”

They posed with the Minister, who seemed genuinely interested in the work Harry had done leading to his nomination this year, then did a five-minute interview with the _Quibbler_ , exchanging amused looks at the questions more than once, then moved along in the loose queue toward the ornate ballroom doors.

A voice drawled on a few feet in front of them. “Oh, he’ll win. Look who he’s up against – Potter’s pitiful war orphans and someone who breeds those monst…”

“That sounds like Malfoy,” said Ginny, peeking around the couple in front of them. “Who’s that woman with him? Isn’t that Daphne Greengrass’ little sister? Aurora?”

“Astoria. If you spent more time in London and less on a broom you’d know all the gossip.” 

It wasn’t that Harry _wanted_ to know the gossip. But running a successful charitable foundation meant he had to sell his cause. And selling his cause meant attending events and soliciting donations. It meant shaking hands and making small talk with people, sorting out and remembering names and faces, storing away small details. He was not exactly a natural at it, but Hermione, the chair of his Board of Trustees, presented statistics proving that Harry’s presence at fundraisers resulted in an increase in donations by an average of twenty-five percent.

“What happened to Pansy?” asked Ginny.

“You _are_ out of the loop, aren’t you?” he answered with a grin. “She left him for Daphne – that’s how Malfoy and Astoria met. He’s been going with her at least six months now.” 

“Harry! Over here!”

Harry turned, putting on an artificially bright smile that he certainly didn’t feel for _Wizarding Life._ He wasn’t usually so accommodating, but he still had a soft spot for little Dennis Creevey, who had taken up his brother’s camera after the battle, and had gone on to land a job with this respected newcomer among Wizarding magazines.

They were stopped near the door by Fiona Fairweather, the entertainment reporter for the _Prophet_.

“I’m here with Harry Potter, third-time nominee, and his companion Ginny Weasley, lead Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. “Ginny, you’ve been chosen as a reserve Chaser for England for the upcoming World Cup….”

Harry looked around the atrium, eyes darting from one dark-haired man to another, as the interviewer went on to discuss Ginny’s gown and jewelry, then finally smiled coyly at Harry.

“And when do you plan to make an honest woman out of Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter?”

Harry sighed. He would have expected at least one question about why he was here tonight – he was nominated for a H.E.R.O for Humanitarian Achievement of the Year, after all.

But Ginny took the question before he could open his mouth. She visibly bristled.

“Honest? What makes you think I’m not an honest woman already? Why does a woman need a ring on her finger to be _honest_?” 

Ginny Weasley _was_ an honest person. Harry wished he could claim the same for himself. He smiled ruefully and shook his head at the reporter and let Ginny pull him by the hand toward the doors. Behind him, he could hear the reporter shouting out a question to him – _What was your reaction to being nominated against Severus Snape? Is it true he’s never thanked you for saving his life…?”_

He didn’t look back. 

They ducked inside together, Harry’s arm around Ginny’s waist. Already familiar with the routine, they waited for their usher before making their way down the long ramp to their seats.

He and Ginny made a striking couple, and they were as comfortable together as brother and sister. It wasn’t a good formula for romance, but the Wizarding public was so accustomed to seeing them hand in hand that they were usually left alone after the initial press of photographers and autograph seekers. Harry was convinced that if he brought a _real_ date, he’d have no peace at all. He couldn’t imagine finding a date he actually liked who would put up with this kind of scrutiny more than a time or two. 

“I’m not kidding, Harry,” Ginny said as they sank into their plush seats in the second row. “Next year you’re bringing a real date. Think how much better a night like this would be if you had someone here to celebrate with you when you win. He could lean over and plant a big one on you when they announce your name….”

“I have you,” interrupted Harry. He glanced behind them then cast a quick _Muffliato._ “And I haven’t won yet, have I?” Ginny shook her head in exasperation as he continued. “And you know why I don’t bring a date,” he said. “You and I are old news. They pretty well ignore us after they get updated on your career and your gown. Besides, I love having someone on my arm that a certain someone can’t top.” He poked her playfully in the side. “And he certainly can’t top you.”

Ginny choked back a laugh. “No, he can’t, can he? If he’s going to top anyone, he’s going to top you.”

“Very funny.”

Ginny laughed.

“And while I appreciate the compliments,” Ginny added, under her breath, “this game of yours is ridiculous.” She paused to take a program from a basket that was moving its way along the rows. “You do remember your promise that last year would be the _last_ time you’d ask me to do this?”

Harry raised their joined hands and gave a thumbs up to Dean Thomas, who’d called out to them from the aisle. They both waved and Dean grinned and took his seat beside Cho Chang. Harry looked back at Ginny and smiled wistfully. “I remember. You know how much I appreciate you coming again this year, Gin. I never expected to be nominated for this award. Everyone knew Snape would be, after that news hit. But Merlin - _both_ of us. I need you even more this year. If I lose to him, he’ll flaunt it. I know he will. He’ll be so damn cocky. You know how he feels about me.”

“You two,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. She and Harry rose slightly so that another couple could move past them to their own seats further down the row. 

“And it’s not a game,” he added, sighing. “I just don’t want to give him an opening. It would be different if he _respected_ me. If he showed one speck of interest in something other than….than…”

“Than what, Harry?” Ginny raised an eyebrow and suppressed a smirk.

“Than my _arse_ ,” he muttered. 

Ginny glanced at him and shook her head. “You know he was drunk when he said that, Harry.”

Harry shrugged and opened his program.

“I think you two would find out you have a lot more in common than you think if you’d – oh, I don’ t know – go out to dinner or something,” she said. She was scanning the seats around them, which were quickly filling up with other nominees and guests. “Oooo, Harry,” she said, her eyes opening wide. She leaned her head toward him. “There he is. Who _is_ that with him?”

Harry took a deep breath, released it slowly, then turned to look. He frowned.

“That’s Reinhold von Habel, his assistant,” he muttered. “Why did he bother bringing him? Everyone knows he’s not gay. They’re obviously not together.”

Ginny grinned. “What? Snape brought an escort who doesn’t share his sexual orientation? How _could_ he? That’s _cheating_ , Harry!”

He tore his eyes away from Snape and his date and cuffed her playfully on the shoulder. “I know. Pot. Kettle.”

“Are you positive he’s not gay?” Ginny watched as Snape and his companion were seated across the aisle from them. “He’s gorgeous, Harry. Would you mind if I….?”

“Oh, be my guest,” he muttered. “Go right on over and ask him out. I’m sure Snape won’t think anything of it.”

“There’s no reason to think anything, Harry,” said Ginny. “This is a personal thing between you and Snape. The more you use your brain to get ahead in life, the more you accomplish that has less to do with your Boy-Who-Lived reputation and your Quidditch skills, the more he focuses on your as a sex object. And speaking of sex objects, I must say he’s done very well this year.” She turned toward Harry. “Why don’t you just accept Snape’s offer and go out with him? Live a little. I know you’re serious about your work, Harry, but you’ve got to balance it with fun.”

“He hasn’t asked me _out_ ,” clarified Harry. “Whenever we’re in the same room, he’s looking for ways to make me feel stupid. At the Hogwarts Career Day last year, he stopped in the middle of his presentation and turned to me – I was sitting at the table in front of the sixth-years with the rest of the panel – and said ‘Unfathomable, Potter. That means difficult or impossible to understand or to measure. Not a word used very often in the Quidditch changing rooms.’”

“That sounds just like him,” said Ginny. “He’s always been like that, Harry.”

“But in front of the students? When we’re both adults?” He shook his head. “And if he’s not trying to make me feel six inches tall, he’s pretending to come on to me. I don’t understand him.”

For her part, Ginny suspected that the odd game between Harry and Snape was based on each man’s feelings of inadequacy. Snape thought Harry didn’t find him attractive enough. Harry thought Snape saw nothing but his outward appearance and Boy Who Lived reputation and found him dull, even stupid. And somewhere in the middle of these misconceptions, Harry started a philanthropic foundation and was appointed to the Hogwarts Board of Governors, while Snape both improved his appearance and developed a respectable public persona in his post-Hogwarts career.

Harry leaned forward and over to say hello to Eva Carter and her husband Noel – Eva was on Grimmauld Foundation’s Board of Directors. When he leaned back again, Ginny pressed a kiss onto his temple, whispering “I was there that first time, remember? At the first Remembrance Ball? I believe his exact words were ‘Mr. Potter, you look utterly shaggable. Care for a little mouth-to-mouth exploration on the Astronomy Tower?’”

“Everyone heard him,” Harry reminded her. “And you made up that second part.” He glanced over at Snape again while Ginny laughed. Snape and von Habel were reading the same program, heads bent down together.

“He’d been drinking,” said Ginny. “It was that kind of night. No one took him seriously.”

“Well how about the next year?” Harry countered. 

“Complimenting your dress robes is not a crime,” said Ginny. “Besides, they were lovely – I picked them out, remember? You’d really filled out that year. You deserved the compliment.”

“He said they made my arse look lickable,” Harry said. 

“He said ‘delectable,’” corrected Ginny.

“He might have,” said Harry, smiling in spite of himself.

“He was just reacting to what everyone else was talking about, Harry. Everyone noticed how different you looked after a year of professional Quidditch. He’s got you figured out - he knows it makes you uncomfortable. He _likes_ you, Harry. Everyone knows it.”

Harry couldn’t help glancing at Snape again. He was turned back facing the row behind him, talking with someone Harry didn’t recognize. “The third year, he cut in on us while we were dancing.”

“He wasn’t the only one who cut in on us, Harry.”

“The whole time we danced he grilled me,” said Harry. “On why I brought you instead of ‘an escort appropriate to my sexual orientation.’ He doesn’t understand what it’s like for me, Gin.”

“You’re whinging, Harry. And you’re obsessing over him,” said Ginny. “This isn’t healthy.”

Harry continued as if he didn’t hear her. “And at last year’s award ceremonies, he leaned up so hard against me at the bar at the after-party I could feel…. He looked over at Ginny. She was grinning. He rolled his eyes and grinned back. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. She lowered her voice, despite the privacy the _Muffliato_ assured them. “And how did he measure up?”

Harry poked her again. “I’m beginning to think you’re more interested in him than I am.”

“Aha! You admitted it!”

Harry looked away. “Did not,” he muttered.

The orchestra in the pit before them started to warm up. Ginny sat up straighter. “Oh good. It’s starting. Did you commit to any after-parties?”

“No. But if I win, I’ll have to show up at the Ministry ball.”

“Oh. The stuffy one. If you lose can we go to Cho’s? Dean’s invited the old crowd.”

Harry laughed. “Absolutely. That will take some of the sting out of losing.”

This year, Lee Jordan was hosting the ceremony, replacing Percy Weasley. The ceremony had been so boring last year that one of the winners had to be woken up by her husband when her name was announced. Fortunately, Lee kept everything rolling reasonably well, moving fluidly from awards for small acts of bravery by children to charitable sacrifices to discovery of the year. He managed to keep the acceptance speech of the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award to only fifteen minutes, which was rather miraculous, as the witch in question was one hundred and twenty-two years old and had a great number of people to thank, most of them deceased.

Still, it was nearly two and a half hours into the evening when the final H.E.R.O, for Humanitarian Achievement of the Year, was announced. 

As much as Harry told himself that awards like this didn’t matter – that he was who he was and the publicity and attention meant nothing– when it came down to it, in these final seconds, he _ached_ with wanting it so badly. It wasn’t the spotlight – he’d had enough of that already for a lifetime. It was the achievement itself – the recognition that it meant something to others, that the world was better off for something that he’d done in his life _after_ Voldemort. That, despite what Snape had said to him all those years ago, his life hadn’t topped out at seventeen. That he did have more to live, and more to give.

He looked up to see last year’s winner, Sonja Hansen, resplendent in maroon dress robes with a frill around the collar that reminded him uncomfortably of Ron’s hated fourth year formalwear, appear on stage to announce the nominees. She smiled at the audience, looking a bit bewildered, and began.

“The H.E.R.O. for Humanitarian of the Year is awarded to the witch or wizard whose actions or contributions best exemplify a devotion to the welfare and advancement of witches and wizards across the continent.” She paused with unintended dramatic effect, took a deep breath, adjusted her glasses and continued.

“And this year, our nominees are: Axel Bennington, for his work to reform incarceration practices at Azkaban Prison.”

Harry clapped enthusiastically, though not everyone in attendance did so. Bennington’s reform movement included probationary hearings and early release based on good behavior for non-violent offenders. This went against the age-old Wizarding practice of locking the door and throwing away the key, or worse yet, handing it to the Dementors.

Axel Bennington waved from his seat midway back. His nomination was so controversial that he was flanked by Auror guards.

“Severus Snape, for developing the Dragon Pox vaccine potion.”

The presenter looked over at Snape and smiled broadly. The audience clapped loudly then laughed when someone yelled out “A bit too late for me!” Snape’s vaccine was widely heralded as the best medical improvement of the century in the Wizarding world.

“Mary Adamson, for selflessly sacrificing her life in the line of duty to save three of her fellow Aurors and a Muggle primary school.”

It was a posthumous nomination. Sadly, there was one nearly every year. Everyone applauded loudly. 

“Harry Potter, for establishing the Grimmauld Children’s Trust, supporting the educational needs of our war orphans and the eradication of childhood diseases.”

Harry nodded at the presenter. Everyone clapped. A few people stood up. It was widely known that Harry had donated the entire Black estate as seed money for the Trust. Had it not been for Snape’s discovery and ensuing nomination, he’d have been a shoo-in for the award.

“And Immelda Zen, for finding ten uses for Blast-Ended Skrewt’s blood!”

The applause was lighter, though quite enthusiastic from those few who had encountered one of the vile creatures. Though the nomination was largely based on use number eight – a blood clotting agent that was already being used in the St. Mungo’s trauma ward – Harry personally thought that draining every last Blast-Ended Skrewt of its blood offered unquantifiable benefits to humanity.

The presenter held up the wax-sealed scroll, then broke the seal and unrolled it. Her smallish eyes grew very round behind her cat’s-eye glasses.

“We…we have a tie,” she announced.

The audience murmured its surprise. Harry’s stomach lurched. Popular opinion had him and Snape neck and neck.

“And the H.E.R.O. goes to…Severus Snape and Harry Potter!”

Ginny squealed. She was not generally given to squealing.

“Harry,” she hissed a few seconds later when Harry remained beside her, frozen in place. Movement to their left indicated that Snape was on his way to the stage. “Harry, go!”

Harry slowly stood.

Tie? How could there be a tie? It was so… _improbable._

The applause increased as he walked toward the stage, eyes on the broad, curved stairs that led up to the platform that was magically hovering over the sunken dance floor. His head was swimming. A tie…a tie meant joint appearances, joint interviews, joint photographs. Would they have to share a single H.E.R.O. orb? Take turns displaying it on their mantels?

Severus Snape had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was waiting for him.

This was Harry’s second H.E.R.O. His first, in the Legal category, was awarded to him for shepherding through a new Wizarding law similar to the “Right to Silence” in Muggle England and Wales. He’d been nominated another time in the field of education for helping to revamp the Hogwarts Muggle Studies curriculum. He’d been down this road before, but he’d never before been greeted by a co-winner when he reached the stage.

Snape was standing by the stairs, wearing dress robes that had to be a Malfoy & Malfoy design. The collar was trimmed in dark navy blue satin piping and the cut of the jacket with the fall-away robe tails that the Malfoys had introduced made him look taller and, Harry thought, more foreboding. 

What? He was _noticing_ Snape’s _clothing?_ Next he’d be staring at his shining hair and intense black eyes instead of concentrating on accepting his award and giving his speech.

_Right. His speech._

Snape was holding out his hand and Harry forced a smile on his face as he grasped it.

The entire audience roared when Snape pulled Harry forward by his wrist and embraced him. It certainly appeared to be a spontaneous and heartfelt gesture.

Harry did not return the hug. He was incapable of doing so, with his hands trapped against his sides while Snape’s arms encircled him, pulling him against his surprisingly firm chest, against a neck that smelled not of stale potions ingredients and vile fumes but of cedar and peppermint soap. Harry gulped in air as cameras flashed around them, shivering when Snape exhaled, his breath ghosting over Harry’s ear.

The photograph taken at that moment covered the front page of the _Prophet_ the next day and made a reappearance in the winter edition of _Wands for Wizards_. 

Harry had to admit that the photo was appropriate for the fairly staid gay wizards’ magazine – he photographed well from the back, he thought. But Snape’s face was _clearly_ buried in his neck and in the magical photo, Harry’s hands, in tight fists when Snape hugged him, slowly relaxed, fingers stretching out as languorously as a cat stretching its back after a long nap. 

Snape released him, looking genuinely pleased, and Harry gave an obliging smile. He _was_ happy, after all. He’d just won a H.E.R.O for Humanitarian of the Year, and Sonja Hansen, last year’s recipient, was standing ten feet away, smiling broadly at them. Two of the golden H.E.R.O. orbs, spelled to hover like lazy, over-sized Snitches, floated on either side of her.

She plucked an orb from the air and handed it to Snape. He grasped her hand, then kissed her cheek. She then flicked her finger against the second, and it shot across the stage toward Harry. He plucked it out of the air on reflex, and the audience laughed and cheered, but Snape frowned. Harry hadn’t prepared a speech, but wasn’t surprised that Snape had. The last time he won, he had prepared one, but found that all the things he’d wanted to say when he wrote it were not the things he wanted to say when he stood up on the stage. He’d fumbled with the parchment and the words on it and had decided that if he ever won again, he’d speak from the heart.

Severus tried to nudge Harry toward the podium first. But Harry resisted, pressing back into Snape’s fingers on the small of his back, and Severus sighed in resignation and stepped forward himself. He didn’t reach into his pocket for a folded piece of parchment but simply cast a _Sonorus_ and began. Snape’s voice, as Harry already knew, still had the same silky quality Harry so remembered from his Hogwarts days. It was the voice that he’d hated, that had made him so angry, that had made him so _confused._ The snake bite had compromised it only in volume, and the Sonorus ameliorated even that. When it was over, Harry was left with the impression of a perfect delivery, of a man accustomed to speaking under pressure, addressing large groups of people, and who was genuinely honored to receive the prestigious award. Snape was calm, _collected_. He spoke eloquently. He mentioned several well-known wizards and witches whose lives had been snuffed out by Dragon Pox, how he himself had lost his grandmother to the disease when he was eight years old. He dedicated the award to her. The applause following his speech was thundering.

Harry had never been so nervous before a speech in his life. But then again, he’d never had to follow such a charismatic delivery by a man whose very presence made the synapses in his brain misfire and whose voice alone redirected all his blood to his prick, resulting in his IQ dropping by at least twenty points.

He could admit that now and thank Merlin that this particular effect hadn’t plagued him during his Hogwarts days.

Harry stepped up to the podium. He blinked against the lights as Snape moved back and to the side. He cast his own Sonorus, looked out at the audience, and managed to forget, for a short time, that Severus Snape was standing behind him. He spoke briefly but eloquently about the Foundation and its efforts. He was then took a deep breath, and glanced at Snape.

The Board of Directors of the Grimmauld Children’s Foundation had planned to have him make a major announcement should he win: that the foundation was setting up a substantial research grant to develop a cure for or a vaccine to prevent Spattergroit. And now – now he was sharing the stage, and the award, with a man who had just conquered Dragon Pox. It did seem appropriate.

“As part of our mission to provide a safe, secure environment for magical children to live and grow, the Grimmauld Children’s Foundation has established a grant of one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons to go toward research leading to a cure for or a vaccine against Spattergroit.”

He turned to Severus Snape, standing there behind him with a very odd look on his face, and continued. “And considering Mr. Snape’s recent achievements, I hope he will consider applying for this grant.”

Snape’s mouth dropped open, but he quickly turned the expression into a smile. Harry thought the smile looked somewhat shell-shocked. One hundred and fifty thousand Galleons was a substantial sum of money. Snape took two steps forward and pulled Harry into another hug. The crowd rose as one to its feet, cheering.

“You do have a brain after all,” Snape said, his voice audible only to Harry amid the audience’s noise. His hand squeezed low on Harry’s waist when he turned them forward again for another photo shot.

~*~

:

There were photographs. Interviews. _Potions Quarterly_ had actually sent an editor to the event, and wanted to run an exclusive on the grant opportunity.

More photographs. 

Ginny had disappeared with a wave and a wink some time earlier. Snape seemed to have lost Reinhold, too. Harry suspected their dates were somewhere together, probably at Cho’s after-party. 

He and Severus, however, had guest-of-honor status at the rather stuffy Ministry affair. 

And there, rather predictably considering the joint award and his announcement, they made the rounds together. And while Snape had the pleasure of introducing him to one person after another of interest in the medical research and scientific professions, Harry had the pleasure of Snape watching everyone treat him – Harry – as a respected, solid and contributing member of society.

No one patted him on the arse. No one asked him about Quidditch. No one called his IQ into question or spelled words for him or asked him for his autograph or even remotely insinuated that he’d ridden his fame to a position of respect.

No one – not even Snape.

Harry realized that something big, something _fundamental_ , had changed between them. 

He might attribute it to the prospect of funding – significant funding. Believing – or hoping – that Harry held the keys to the Grimmauld Foundation’s vaults. Perhaps others thought that too, that the prospect of a generous grant for his next project had been enough for Snape to at least _treat_ Harry like a respected colleague instead of a washed-up hero.

And despite the fact that no one was patting his arse and asking for autographs, the scientists and researchers were definitely pandering to him. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him– or better said, a piece of the Grimmauld Foundation. 

Harry was almost beginning to regret his announcement. 

There were, of course, those who wanted to congratulate him on what he was doing for the orphans. But the one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-galleon bombshell he’d dropped had stirred up the growing medical research community – the stuffy types, Harry realized, the types who actually _wanted_ to attend the Ministry party. Quite a few had pet projects of their own, and pulled him away while Snape was looking the other way or engaged in a conversation of his own, pitching their cases for future funding, even though most of these had little if any bearing to the health and welfare of children. Snape seldom let him get ten steps away before he had him by the arm again, interrupting the conversation with a pleasant “Ah, Mr. Potter, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” and then leading him away, grumbling about the audacity of certain people and how ludicrous their pet causes were. 

Harry was polite. Though he didn’t necessarily enjoy it, he could now hold his own at any type of social function. He’d learned the social graces, and had overcome his instinct to flee for cover – or to an out-of-the-way corner of the room – when the dancing started. He’d even learned to tie his cravat without Ginny’s help and to secure the elaborate cuffs on his Wizarding robes with the cuff links that had once belonged to his father.

But tonight, moving through _this_ crowd with _this man_ , he felt out of his depth. And he desperately did not want Snape to know that.

Perhaps he was just missing Ginny, the comfortable weight of her hand on his arm. She was a familiar anchor, and he could fade into the background noise if she’d had a particularly good – or bad – year with the Harpies. Quidditch was always an acceptable topic of conversation and a fortuitous distraction.

But as much as he complained about Snape to Ginny, as much as he used her to ward off unwanted advances from…others…at the annual Ministry Remembrance balls and H.E.R.O. awards , as much as he hid the truth from everyone, he had to admit to himself that Snape fascinated him.

Still scared him sometimes, yes, frustrated him no end, but fascinated him too.

But everything in Snape’s demeanor, from his mean-spirited dismissal of Harry when he woke from his month-long coma after the Final Battle, to his behavior toward Harry at every event they’d attended since, indicated that he thought Harry got by on his looks and reputation, and that aside from his lauded past as a boy hero and Quidditch player, he had nothing substantial to offer the world. That not only had he not done anything worthwhile since he’d permanently dispatched Voldemort, he didn’t have the wherewithal to do it. But despite Snape making it clear that Harry was a brainless wonder, he wasn’t averse to leering at him. He’d once told him, in fact, that it was good that Harry had such a nice arse, as it distracted attention from his astonishingly empty head.

Harry didn’t want to be just a nice arse to Severus Snape.

It was almost as if Snape _knew_ Harry wanted to prove himself to him, and responded by admiring his arse or dumbing down his vocabulary, even going so far as to speak more slowly.

And despite Harry wanting Snape to look past his appearance and reputation, he couldn’t help but notice that Snape’s own appearance had improved – though there wasn’t much you could do with a nose like that short of some radical cosmetic spells. His teeth, regrown after an unfortunate altercation after the first Remembrance Ball, totally altered his smile, or perhaps he allowed himself to smile more now. His skin was less sallow, his hair less lank, and he dressed better, or maybe he just looked better now that he didn’t wear Hogwarts teaching robes. Harry thought he’d gained some weight, which definitely improved his appearance overall, and he carried himself differently.

Harry thought that came from the new attitude.

For one, he’d stopped insulting Harry publicly, grinding him into the ground. Oh, he’d certainly not stopped in private, but he didn’t make damning statements to the press, going as far as to tell Skeeter that he had nothing to say about Harry Potter except that he’d done what he’d had to do and was no longer his responsibility. If Snape didn’t think much of him as a contributing member of Wizarding society, he at least didn’t share those thoughts with the general public. He kept his rude, snide, demeaning and lascivious comments for one-on-one encounters, often uttering them quietly to Harry when plenty of other people were around. He seemed to enjoy it particularly when Harry had to _pretend_ it didn’t bother him, quietly steaming while listening to a Ministry official speak.

Snape’s new attitude was obvious in his public persona, as well. Harry had thought Severus Snape to be anti-social at best, reclusive at worst. But apparently, freedom from the Dark Lord also brought with it freedom to have a few friends, to appear in public, to have – hard as it was for Harry to believe – a social life. Snape had led Hogwarts as headmaster for two years after the war – the Transition Years, as they now called them – and had then tendered his resignation and taken a post with a Swiss magical pharmaceuticals laboratory. He oversaw their infectious diseases research and was always popping up in the _Prophet_ , shown visiting a new wing at St. Mungo’s or addressing the British Potions Masters Guild.

It didn’t surprise Harry that, in the six years he spent at Hogwarts, it had escaped him that Snape was gay, for it had somehow escaped Harry that he was, too.

Evidence pointed to Snape having liked women. Like Harry’s mum. He’d loved her – but he’d never had her, not in that way. Harry understood that. He liked Ginny. Loved her, really. She was a wonderful friend. But he didn’t love her in that way. When push came to shove, and she wanted more than kissing and cuddling, he’d tried. He’d _really_ tried. And Ginny, sitting naked and cross-legged at the foot of the bed as he lay there, naked, limp and utterly dejected, had tried to help him sort it out. She’d been astonishingly helpful, given the embarrassing circumstances and the fact that she’d undoubtedly been planning on being Mrs. Potter some day.

“It’s not you, Ginny. Really. It’s just…augh. I don’t know.” He threw his arm over his face and tried to pretend this wasn’t happening.

“Oh, I agree. It’s not me,” she said, rather glumly. But she crawled forward and lay down beside him, holding his hand as a true friend would in the face of this abject humiliation. They stared at the ceiling together. “Maybe you’d prefer someone voluptuous like Sandra Willis?” Harry sighed and shook his head. “How about a blonde – Luna?” Harry squeezed her hand sadly and let out a deep breath. “A brunette, then,” continued Ginny. “Pansy Parkinson? No? Hmm. Oh! Oh…” She chanced a glance at Harry. He looked vaguely green. “No? I don’t blame you. She’s such a bitch. Hmm. Well maybe you do like blondes and I just haven’t hit the right one yet.” She rubbed her bare foot against his. “Draco Malfoy?” she suggested. “I’ll admit he’s attractive but Harry, he’s such a _prat_!”

She didn’t seem to be unduly upset at the idea that Harry might find his own gender appealing.

“Blaise Zabini.”

She glanced over at him. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m getting closer, aren’t I? Slytherin, then. Mysterious. Dark.” She thought a minute, then grinned.

“Snape!” She clapped her hands, having fun with the idea. She lowered her voice and spoke slowly, mimicking Snape’s tone and cadence nearly perfectly. “I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, put a stopper on death.” 

Harry shuddered. But instead of breaking out in gooseflesh, he blushed.

“Potter!” continued Ginny in the same deep voice. “What do you call that mess? I said _chopped_ , not mutilated! Bring me your Potions textbook. At once!”

Harry was mortified when his quiescent cock gave an interested twitch.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, arching it in a very Snape-like gesture.

“Ooooh. Snape, Harry? _Professor_ Snape?”

It was a testament to the kind of friend Ginny was that it remained their private joke. Well, Ginny’s joke, anyway. Harry didn’t really think it was all that funny.

 

And here he was tonight, at Severus Snape’s side, moving around the room together, guests-of-honor by way of an unexpected and unprecedented tie vote. Side by side with his secret obsession.

It was complicated. His feelings were complicated. He admitted his obsession with Snape to himself, but he didn’t know if Snape had a similar obsession, or if he was simply toying with him, getting under his skin in the worst possible way. By coming on to him, acknowledging only his _physical_ attributes, he reinforced what he had said all those years ago in the infirmary – that Harry was a brainless wonder, a fame seeker, who somehow managed to kill the Dark Lord but would never again do anything that measured up to that moment. That he had topped out, washed out, at the ripe old age of seventeen. That he may as well not even try – may as well go off and play Quidditch and sign autographs.

That Harry had done precisely that for the first three years after Hogwarts was another story altogether.

He’d ended his Quidditch career voluntarily, knowing he wanted to do more with his life than dodge Bludgers. The Aurors had welcomed him and he’d sailed through the six-month-long academy. And even though he was good at catching dark wizards, he was apparently better at accompanying the Minister to political events, for he was soon appointed the Minister’s personal bodyguard. He’d lasted two years, during which time he saved the Minister’s life twice – once by pulling him back on the curb when he nearly stepped in front of a Muggle taxi, and another time by saving him from choking on a cinnamon digestive.

The current Minister approached him now to offer his congratulations, and Harry welcomed the distraction. He had to get his mind off of Snape. 

Which was becoming increasingly difficult.

They currently had joint interview requests from six publications as well as the Wizarding Wireless Network. They had posed together for dozens of photographs, holding their H.E.R.O.s, champagne and each other. Apparently, Snape could smell a photographer at ten feet. Whenever one approached, he draped his arm over Harry’s shoulders or around his waist. He did it so naturally that the photos seemed candid and not posed. 

Interestingly, while Snape was always close by, often in his personal space, fingertips on his waist or his arm, he was otherwise on his best behavior. He didn’t whisper anything suggestive to him, or pinch his arse, or press into him from behind or even ask him to dance. When the Minister’s wife led Harry to the dance floor, Snape was there as soon as the song ended, and Harry very cleverly passed his partner off to Severus, then went off in search of something besides champagne to drink.

Well after midnight, when the party was finally beginning to wind down, Harry excused himself to use the gents’, and then ducked outside on one of the terraces for a breath of air. The terrace was deserted, and he sat on a bench and closed his eyes. 

“Are you ready to go on, then?” asked a familiar voice from the terrace door.

“Go on?” Harry opened his eyes. Snape was leaning against the doorframe, hands folded on this stomach. “Go on where?”

“To the next party,” said Snape with a shrug. He closed the door behind him. “Miss Chang’s, perhaps? Or the Skeeter affair?”

Harry shook his head. “Home,” he said. “I’m knackered.”

Snape rolled his shoulder and grimaced. “Probably a good idea. Our interview with _E!Wizard_ is at noon.”

“You said yes to an interview with _E!Wizard_?” Harry exclaimed. He stared at Snape, mouth slightly open.“ _E!Wizard_!”

“You set up three with philanthropic and academic publications,” said Severus with a dismissive shrug. He walked over to the terrace railing and looked out, then turned to face Harry, leaning casually on the rail. “ _E!Wizard_ has a hundred times the readership of any of the others.”

“But _E!Wizard_ is….” He trailed off, then dropped his head into his hands. “I want to be taken seriously.”

“You want to change your image,” clarified Snape. “You want to be more than a boy hero.” He tapped his fingers on the railing. “I’m glad I was here to help out your cause.” 

“You’d think two H.E.R.O.s would be enough,” Harry said, staring at Snape’s tapping fingers.

“Oh, they are,” said Snape. His mouth curled up in a slow, knowing smile. “I don’t know what you’re worrying about, Potter. The entire crowd here takes you very seriously. One hundred and fifty thousand Galleons is serious business indeed.” He smiled knowingly. “Yes, your two H.E.R.O.s are enough for everyone – enough for everyone but me.”

They stared at each other. Harry didn’t drop his gaze, nor did he challenge Snape.

“I expect we’re two of a kind, then, aren’t we?” he said at last, and was encouraged when Snape looked away. “You’d like to change your image, too. You’d like to be more than a brain – more than a brilliant spy and Dumbledore’s man. You want people to _like_ you.”

Snape scoffed, but it was a weak attempt at contradiction.

“And belittling me?” Harry was on a roll now. “Treating me like a snotty second year? Coming on to me? How does that help your cause?”

Snape lowered his voice.

“Tell me first why my opinion of you matters. Then I’ll answer your question.”

“All right,” said Harry, feeling a champagne-induced surge of courage. “Fine.” He stood and walked closer to Snape, leaning against the railing several feet away from him. “Well,” he said, keeping his voice low, “I suppose I’ve found you rather…interesting. Since I left Hogwarts, anyway.”

Snape laughed. “I suppose I can admit to having found you rather interesting as well…” He allowed his gaze to sweep down over Harry. There was a significant pause. “Since you left Hogwarts.”

“Well, that’s been a bit obvious,” Harry said. “So – my question?”

“You haven’t actually answered mine yet,” answered Snape. He pushed off the railing and took the seat on the bench Harry had abandoned. He crossed his legs. “Well?”

“Perhaps ‘interesting’ isn’t the right word,” said Harry. “Intriguing?”

“Intriguing.” Snape gave a tight smile, then stared hard at Harry. “And by ‘since you left Hogwarts,’ do you actually mean since you realized you were attracted to men?”

Harry laughed. “I realized I was attracted to men a few weeks before I left Hogwarts,” he said. “So yes, have it your way.”

“To some men, anyway,” said Snape. “Not to ugly gits.”

Harry frowned. Something was trying to click into place in his brain, but neither the late hour nor the champagne – nor the too close, too intense presence of Snape – gave him any clarity of thought. 

Oh. _Fuck._

“I’m not seventeen anymore,” he said. “And I’m ready to call it a night. I’ll see you at the interview tomorrow, I guess.” He pushed off the rail and headed toward the door.

“Do you remember the conversation we had when I awoke from my coma?” said Snape to Harry’s back as Harry walked away. 

Harry stopped, hand outstretched toward the door handle. 

He slowly turned to face Snape, unable to keep his expression blank.

“I’d hardly call it a conversation. You did all the talking.”

Snape’s face hardened. “You do remember.”

“Oh, I remember. I believe you told me I was washed up. That I’d never accomplish anything greater in life than I’d already accomplished. That I should go off and play Quidditch and sign autographs because my brain was functionally equivalent to that of a goat and not capable of higher thought processes. Something like that?”

Snape looked down. Harry wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or smirking. When Snape looked up, his features were carefully neutral.

“Goat? I believe I said a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

Harry stared. “No. I’m sure I would have remembered that. You said goat. Definitely goat.”

“You didn’t recognize the compliment. I compared most of my students to flobberworms.”

“You didn’t spend the time of day with _most_ students,” said Harry. “You went after me personally, after I…” He paused, suddenly unsure. 

“After you what? Sent Hagrid to the Shrieking Shack to fetch my surprisingly not dead body? Sat by me while I was comatose, reading Gilderoy Lockhart’s autobiography _out loud?_ ”

Harry shrugged, trying to hide his smile. He’d loved every minute spent sitting at Snape’s bedside softly reading aloud to him. It was quiet and peaceful in the hospital wing, so remarkably different from the chaos of the rest of the castle.

“You did more than read, though,” said Severus after a drawn out pause. “Sometimes you just talked.”

_Here it comes._

Harry shrugged. “Sometimes you frowned – grimaced, really. That’s when I’d close the book for awhile – and yes, talk.”

He _had_ talked. Snape was comatose, after all, and couldn’t exactly tell him to shut up. At the time, he couldn’t imagine that Snape heard any of it, and he had thought it impossible that he would remember any of it if he had. Madam Pomfrey told him that it was important that they speak to Snape, that the sound of another human voice – reading, talking, singing – could actually help the brain recover. She talked to him all the time when she worked – telling him exactly what she was doing and why

“You talked about what you had for lunch,” said Snape, leveling his dark gaze at Harry, “You told me about the funerals. But what I remember most clearly is the bit about how you couldn’t understand how you could be attracted to an ugly git like me.”

Despite the truth of it, Harry didn’t look away, nor did he deny it. Snape had woken up the day after he’d made that confession. Obviously, he’d been at least semi-conscious. Harry took a deep breath and let it out. He could do this. He could face the truth. “I was seventeen, Snape. Everything was upside down in my life. I was trying to sort things out.”

“You ran your fingers down my nose, Potter. You _stroked_ it. You said disparaging things about my teeth and hair as well.”

“I was seventeen and attracted to a _man_ ,” Harry retorted. He’d gone over this in his head so many times he knew it by rote. “A man I’d spent seven years hating. A man who was my teacher. I was out of my depth, Snape.”

“Yet you didn’t wonder aloud how you could be attracted to a man whom you hated. Or to a man who was your professor. You wondered how you could be attracted to an _ugly git._ ”

“Wait.” Harry straightened, stomach sinking with the surprising realization. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? These past years? How you’ve treated me?” He stepped forward. “Because when I was seventeen - _seventeen_ \- I couldn’t see past the surface, right? I didn’t understand how there could be more to you than a big nose and greasy hair and a really unpleasant personality?”

Snape didn’t say anything. He simply stared at Harry, mute, eyes expressionless, waiting. 

Fuck? Had Snape been _hurt_ by him? By a seventeen-year-old? Snape was….vulnerable?

Something inside Harry softened, realizing that there was a reason Snape could be such a hard-skinned bastard. Hard skin develops over deep wounds, reopened frequently, rubbed raw. 

No – Snape wasn’t vulnerable. But he was human. And sometimes you just had _enough_. He understood that. Snape had given up nearly everything, had miraculously survived, and had come back to consciousness to find Harry Bloody Potter petting his nose and waxing on about how ugly he was.

“I think I get the point, Snape,” Harry said, putting up a semi-sarcastic façade of his own. Sentimentality was no way to get at the heart of Severus Snape. “There’s a lot more to both of us that’s not obvious on the surface.” He allowed his gaze to sweep up and down appreciatively over Snape. “You’re more than a brain on legs,” he said. He closed the distance between them slowly, then, because he couldn’t help but _touch_ him, because it felt natural to do so in this moment, dared to run a slow and deliberate hand down Snape’s arm, smoothing the satiny sleeve of his well-cut robes.

“Malfoy & Malfoy.” It was a statement, not a question. He brushed his thumb against the telltale hexagonal mother-of-pearl decorative buttons on the cuff. Snape tensed, but remained silent. He was staring now at Harry’s hand on his wrist.

Harry lowered his voice. “I was wrong. You’re not an ugly git. I realized that quite a while ago. And I’m sure you’ve realized I’m not just a poster boy for Quidditch and photo ops with Ministry officials. I’ve got a brain that works almost as well as my body does.” He gave a tight smile, still unable to read anything in Snape’s eyes. But instinctively, in his heart _and_ in his mind, he knew this was the moment – the make or break moment he’d thought he’d never have with Severus Snape. He forged ahead because he had to, because he wanted to.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see past the surface back then. You – your motivations - were too complex and I was too young and naïve to understand. And I’m sorry it took me so long to have this conversation with you…Severus.”

Harry’s hand ran up the sleeve again, lingering on Snape’s elbow. His lifted his gaze. He couldn’t read Snape’s face, though there was an intensity of expression behind the practiced mask that could be confusion, anger – or even passion. He dropped his hand, turned quickly and pulled the door open, ducking out into the corridor before Snape could respond. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself. Was it really possible that the ramblings of a seventeen-year old, only a few weeks after he faced Voldemort for the last time, after he first really understood what it meant to be a man, had shaped how Snape felt about him for the past eight years? 

He sighed. He’d spent the past eight years _reacting_ to Snape. To the bitter words Snape had thrown at him – that he had nothing worthwhile left to contribute.

He’d set out to prove Snape wrong, and he was a better man for it.

He smiled, remembering his departing word.

_Severus._

Even ground. Finally, he thought, they were on even ground.

/

The confident and, frankly, relieved, feeling lasted all of twenty minutes.

It took that long for Harry to make the rounds and say his goodbyes.

He hadn’t seen Snape again, and he glanced up and down the corridor as he ducked into the lift.

He breathed a sigh – relief? regret? – then pressed the button for the Floo and Apparition level, and almost jumped out of his skin when a cool voice behind him said, “Leaving without saying goodbye, Mr. Potter?”

Harry whirled around in surprise just as Severus Snape stepped out of the dark corner of the lift. He’d been under a disillusionment spell – he still vaguely resembled the dark-paneled lift walls. He reached purposefully forward and around Harry and pressed several of the lift buttons at once.

The lift lurched to a halt and Harry stumbled against him.

“What are you…?”

“I couldn’t let you leave without finishing our conversation,” Snape said, cutting him off and bracing one arm against the wall above Harry’s shoulder. He ran his other forearm – the same one Harry had caressed – down along Harry’s arm. He affected a casual tone. “You seemed interested in my robes?”

“Your robes…” murmured Harry, so distracted by Snape’s proximity he couldn’t complete the thought.

“I don’t know…the fit, perhaps? The number of buttons?” Snape leaned in closer, his voice a quiet exhale of breath near Harry’s ear.

“Six,” said Harry, his own voice a soft whisper. He brushed his fingers again over the very same buttons. “You’ve always done buttons well….” His voice trailed off and he glanced from Snape’s cuff up to his face. Snape looked like he was about to…about to…

Kiss him.

_Ohhhh._

Harry felt every single point of contact, one after another in quick succession, until he was melded with Snape, pressed tightly against him, and those individual points of contact fused into one molten, mindless sensation.

Snape kissed with his entire body.

He led with his lips. Warm and dry, then soft and sure as he swiped his tongue along the seam of Harry’s mouth. His right hand slid over the back of Harry’s neck, long, nimble fingers working up through his hair to cup his skull. Left hand on his hip, then sliding to his arse, pulling him closer. One leg moving in between his own, thigh pressing forward, rubbing against him. A smooth roll of the hips, a dip, a press forward. And all the time those sinful lips moved against his, while that mouth tasted him, and that deceptively strong and wiry body pressed into him, robbing him of thought, leaving his knees weak and his mind fuzzy until he wrapped his arms around Snape’s neck, thinking he’d sink onto the floor if he didn’t anchor himself in place.

He may have once thought Snape an ugly git, but he’d been attracted to him even then. Eight years of not having him made him all the more desirable now.

Another press of flesh, a groan, a crush of lips, then Snape very deliberately ran his hand over Harry’s obvious erection, squeezed the tip, then trailed nimble fingers down over the fabric of his formal trousers, feeling the length and breadth of him as Harry shuddered and pressed forward. This was not an awkward mating dance, a fumbling first time. Snape knew what he was doing, and Harry knew what he liked. And somehow, the fates had aligned and what Snape was doing was exactly what Harry liked.

“Not just a Quidditch star and Ministry poster boy indeed,” Snape said, almost growling as he deftly unfastened the complex closure that was another trademark of a Malfoy & Malfoy design. He pulled down the zip and worked his hand inside Harry’s trousers, continuing the squeeze and press through Harry’s pants. 

Harry braced himself against the lift wall. Lift…? Fuck! He was having sex in an _lift_. In a Ministry lift…with _Snape!_

And there was no way he was going to stop now. The lift could start up and the doors open on the atrium on the annual Bring Your Family to Work Day and he’d not even bother to wipe the stupid smile off his face. The righteous indignation he’d felt over the years at Snape’s treatment of him has somehow only served to increase the ardor, and the conversation they’d just had out on the terrace had put him on a new mental footing with the man.

Christ, Snape’s hands felt good on him.

Snape didn’t let him think too long about his hands. He buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, hot breath ghosting over his throat.

As warm lips pressed against his pulse point, Harry knew he wanted that mouth.

He moved his hands from Snape’s neck to his shoulders and pressed him downward.

Snape _chuckled._ What had happened to the predictable world Harry thought he knew? What world was this that Harry was currently occupying, anyway? A world where Snape accosted him in lifts, kissed him breathless, undid his trousers, then _chuckled_?

Harry had little time to ponder that question as Snape had taken his earlobe into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. 

“Pushy bottom,” he said, half-chuckling still, as he lowered himself to the floor. His hands glided along with him, down Harry’s sides and hips, then around his waist and under the waistband of his trousers which, obligingly, slid down his legs and pooled at his feet. The cool air of the lift hit his bare legs, and he couldn’t help thrusting forward a bit, eliciting another long chuckle from Snape.

Snape – Snape, who was on the floor at his feet, one long, elegant finger crooking under the elastic of his pants, pulling them down slowly to free his prick. It bounced forward obligingly, and Snape made an appreciative noise. And then Snape’s cheek was against his prick, sliding across the pre-cum in the slit before that mouth, that talented, sensuous mouth that said such _words – stopper death … insolent brat … look at me_ – that mouth he had been fanaticizing about for years, licked down his shaft and - _oh fuck!_ \- enveloped one of his bollocks, rolled it on that wicked tongue, sucked it in with just…just the right…the right…pressure and then moaned, moaned in harmony with the breathless grunts coming from Harry’s own mouth.

Harry had only half a brain available to deal with the sudden twin sensations of a firm fist gripping the tip of his prick and sliding down in a slow twist while the pad of a finger on the other hand traced lightly down his crease, stopping just behind his bollocks, pressing against that spot just…perfectly…

His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as Snape managed to stimulate his prostate with only a finger on his perineum.

Harry’s prick, hard and red and so fucking _wanting_ , filled even more and the small amount of blood left in his brain to fuel its rational decisions - _have sex in a Ministry lift with Severus Snape just when I’ve managed to prove I actually_ have _a brain_ \- flew south to his groin.

His vision blurred as Snape released his bollock and engulfed his prick, taking nearly half of it in on the first go. 

He swallowed a scream and fisted his hands in Snape’s hair, making an incoherent gurgling sound as he felt his prick push further into Snape’s mouth, felt Snape’s tongue and lips and throat caress and swallow him. He thrust forward, body winning out over brain yet again.

Snape responded by digging both hands into his arse, fingers pressing into his crease, kneading his flesh, pulling him tighter against the mouth swallowing his prick. Pleasure like he hadn’t felt in years – hadn’t felt in _forever_ \- coalesced within him, every sensation in his body emanating from a tight center somewhere and everywhere between Snape’s mouth and fingers. Snape drew out the pleasure until Harry’s prick was throbbing, his arse muscles contracted so tightly that his arse was nearly as hard as his prick, and he _willed_ the pleasure to keep building, higher and tauter, one precariously-balanced block after another on a trembling tower, drawn out forever, reaching for the sky.

And Snape, mouth full of prick, hands full of smooth, firm flesh, on his knees at Harry’s feet, moaned.

“Fuck…Snape…Severus….” Harry panted.

Snape swallowed around Harry’s prick, and it was all Harry could bear. It was _more_ than he could bear. He gripped Snape’s shoulders and shuddered as he erupted in orgasm, grunting, nearly crying out, as the finger that had been teasing him pushed inside. His knees folded and he sank to the floor, vision greying at the edges.

He lay there, panting, for only a moment before Snape was beside him, trousers parted and pants pushed down to free his swollen prick, hard and slender and gloriously long and leaking. Harry reached out and grasped it, running his thumb over the slit, and Snape groaned and pulled back. Harry dropped his hand to the floor, and let Snape roll him onto his stomach.

He felt boneless, languid, euphoric on the plush carpet floor of the lift. He felt Snape’s weight settle on him, felt his knees press in, tight on either side of his thighs. Snape’s breath warmed his neck as he pushed his hard cock along Harry’s suddenly lubed crease, sliding, rocking back and forth, fast and hard, biting at Harry’s shoulder through his wrinkled robes, muttering deliciously dirty claiming obscenities. 

It shouldn’t have felt so good, shouldn’t have aroused him from his post-orgasmic languor, but Snape’s weight on his back, the press of his hard length sliding along his arse, the hot breath on his neck sang to him, made him press his palms against the carpet and grunt, push up against Snape, contract his arse cheeks to give Snape more friction.

Snape liked that. Liked Harry moving against him, raising his arse off the floor and pushing back. He groaned, took advantage of the new position and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist, pressed his cock between Harry’s thighs, against the base of his bollocks, thrusting now with single-minded intent while Harry tensed, squeezing his thighs tight, dizzy with the new sensation, before coming with a cry, pulsing to completion, his voice muffled in Harry’s tangled hair. 

He lay on Harry’s back a full minute, heart racing, panting, head buried in Harry’s shoulder.

Harry sighed, content to remain exactly where he was forever, thinking he’d never again in his life feel as good as he felt at that moment, as Snape pressed a kiss to his neck, behind his ear, slow, nuzzling, claiming, then rolled off and struggled to his feet.

Harry pushed up and rolled heavily onto his back, stared up at Snape through crooked glasses. He knew he must look every bit as debauched as he felt. He watched Snape put himself back together, leaning heavily on the lift door. Snape’s cheeks were red, his hair tangled and half out of the neat ponytail. A slow, pleased smile stretched across his face as they regarded each other. The look was good on him. He held out a hand to Harry and Harry took it, let Snape pull him to his feet. He pulled out his wand, still leaning against Snape, and cast a Scourgify on himself, wincing as the spell worked on his over-sensitized flesh. He managed to pull up his trousers and tuck his shirt in while Snape worked his hair back into its neat tail.

“That was every one of my wet dreams rolled into one,” Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around Snape’s neck and pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth, then taking his lips, his mouth, a proper denouement to the rough-and-tumble sex they’d just had.

“You do realize we haven’t finished,” returned Snape. He reached forward and smoothed down Harry’s hair and straightened his glasses on his nose, then pressed the lift buttons again in sequence. 

“Actually, you’ve already said that.”

The lift lurched downward.

The door opened a minute later and Harry and Severus walked calmly out into the crowded lobby.

“Finally!” grumbled Percy Weasley, checking his watch superciliously. He pushed past them, his wife at his elbow. He pressed the button for the ballroom level and as the doors started to close, Audrey sniffed delicately and looked suspiciously around the lift.

“You said we weren’t finished?” Harry said under his breath as they joined the queue to Apparate.

“Of course not. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have a grant application to fill out. It will go much faster if you’re there to give me some pointers.”

“You’re not serious.” 

“You indicated you wanted to be taken seriously, did you not?”

They were at the head of the queue now and Severus walked to the platform, then paused and looked back at Harry.

“Coming?” he asked, holding out a hand.

Harry stepped up on the platform without a word and placed his hand on Snape’s arm.

They disappeared together with the barest of cracks, and if everyone assumed they were off to the Cho Chang soiree, all the better.

~~~

_One Year Later - August 2006_

That they’d managed to keep their relationship under wraps for an entire year was something approaching a miracle. Two months after the awards, Snape’s team had been awarded the Spattergroit grant, so by necessity he had frequent interaction with Harry and the rest of the Grimmauld Children’s Trust team, including Hermione. She was on to them before Christmas, so Harry took Ron out for a pint, but it took several for Ron to realize that Harry wasn’t having him on and really did like the git, and several more before he stopped looking at Harry, opening his mouth, then shaking his head and sputtering. Which had, ultimately, led to Harry referring to his reaction as – Sputtergroit.

And despite the monumental and quite spectacular beginning, Harry and Severus took things rather slowly from there on out. There were, after all, pieces of their past that weren’t quite water under the bridge yet, water that was a bit more slow-moving than either had anticipated. When Harry caught Severus staring at his eyes one time too many, there was a horrible row about Harry’s mother, and whether he was just a replacement for her. Whether the rest of him looked too much like his father for Severus to love him for himself. But Severus doubted Harry too, and they spent nearly a month apart just after Christmas when Harry gave Severus a pair of form-fitting black jeans and a designer shirt and told him – perhaps one time too many –how much younger he looked wearing them.

But they’d had to attend a Foundation meeting together, and had gotten caught up in a heated discussion of the ethical ramifications of testing potential vaccines and cures on prisoners. One of Severus’ assistants had suggested that prisoners be deliberately infected with the disease and then treated with the experimental cures.

Severus and Harry, sitting across from each other at the table, had risen to their feet as one, incensed. They looked at each other, and Harry’s face softened, and Severus’ took on a curious expression, and after the meeting ended – with Severus suggesting that the assistant volunteer as a test subject and be infected with Spattergroit herself – they found themselves in the same pub just on the London side of Diagon Alley.

The make-up sex was almost worth the long separation.

They enjoyed being out of the spotlight. They kept their relationship private and when they went out, they avoided Wizarding venues. By careful planning, and perhaps some sheer dumb luck, they hadn’t yet been caught out. 

The event tonight had sneaked up on them, taking them quite by surprise when their invitations arrived a month ago. As joint winners of the Humanitarian Achievement of the Year H.E.R.O. the previous year, they were expected to present the award – jointly – this year.

Expected to wear their finest, arrive early and walk the purple carpet through the reporters and photographers, Ministry officials, the crowds of well-wishers and fans. Expected to come to the event with someone on their arm

“I can’t do it,” Harry had said when the full implication hit him. “I’m not going to ask Ginny again, or anyone else. I’m through with pretending.”

Severus was sitting at the breakfast table in Harry’s flat drinking tea and reading the _Daily Prophet_ , and he looked up over the top of his reading glasses and fixed his gaze on Harry, giving nothing away. 

“What do you suggest, then?” he asked. He turned the paper to the next page and glanced down at it, then back at Harry.

Harry stared from Severus to the invitation in his hand, then back at Severus again. 

“It’s been a good year,” he said, tentatively.

Severus folded the newspaper and set it aside. He placed his teacup on its saucer and laid the spoon beside it. “It has,” he agreed. “Most of it, anyway.”

Harry smiled. “All right, most of it,” he said. “But we can’t hide forever. And one of these days I’m going to have to subject you to Christmas or my birthday at the Burrow.”

“Certainly. And you may assist me with testing for Potions O.W.L.s at Hogwarts.” He gave a pleased smirk.

“That’s hardly the same, Severus. The Weasleys are like family to me.”

“Fine. We may invite them to our place – one at a time.”

“Our place?” Harry smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Severus shrugged. “I keep a toothbrush and three pair of reading glasses here. You have your own desk at my cottage, as well as an extra broom. You have usurped my dressing gown. Your cat likes me more than it likes you. Surely it would be more convenient for both of us to co-habit. It’s a simple matter of completing the move.”

Harry wasn’t naïve enough to think that anything about co-habiting with Severus would be simple. 

“Seeker likes me,” he said.

Severus rolled his eyes. “She tolerates you because you feed her. We were discussing the upcoming awards ceremony?”

“Right.” Harry searched Severus’ face but he wasn’t giving Harry any help at all. He simply raised an eyebrow.

“People are going to find out one way or another,” Harry said, speaking very quickly. “Why don’t we do this on our terms, then? If we’re ready for everyone to know, why not everyone at once?”

“Are we ready for everyone to know?” asked Severus. He warmed his hands around his teacup, frowned, then poured more steaming water into it.

“I am,” said Harry. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from Severus. “Are you?”

“It _has_ been a good year….” He frowned, considering. 

Harry smiled, knowing Severus was feigning hesitation.

“Mostly,” Harry added.

Their eyes met across the table. They smiled.

“Right, then,” said Harry. “A public appearance at the H.E.R.O.s. I gave Ginny my mum’s emerald and diamond earrings last year. You’ll have to settle for my dad’s watch.”

“I do not require a watch on my arm,” said Severus. “I only require you.”

 

And here they were, a month later, standing together, yet not together, waiting for their turn to walk.

“Flying solo this year, Potter?” Draco Malfoy, his new wife on his arm, took a long drink of champagne and set the empty glass on the tray of a passing house-elf. He swept his gaze over Harry critically, but obviously couldn’t find much amiss with the picture Harry presented. “Where’s Weasley?”

“Threw me over at the last minute,” said Harry. “Got a better offer, I suppose.” He kept himself from glancing over at Severus, who was now talking with Gladys Underwood, the Minister of Health. 

“They’re ready for us, Draco,” said Astoria, tugging on his arm. 

Five minutes later, the Ministry page tapped him on the shoulder and Harry moved to the door, Severus behind him. As soon as the nominee before him moved away from the first interviewer, Severus stepped up beside him.

“Wait for Mr. Potter to clear the first…” began the page.

But Harry reached for Severus’ hand and stepped forward.

Severus ignored the page and followed.

It didn’t take long for them to draw the attention of every photographer and reporter present. The camera flashes were blinding. Harry and Severus each looked their best, but the effect was magnified by how at ease they looked, hands casually joined, as they walked together for the first time in the Wizarding world.

***

Harry and Severus had a number of favorite moments and memories from that night, the best of them memorialized in a single photograph.

It had been taken from behind them as they walked, hand in hand, toward Rita Skeeter, who had won the first interview spot on the purple carpet that year. Draco and Astoria Malfoy had turned to look at the commotion, their faces and Rita’s clearly visible as Harry and Severus approached. The photograph played and replayed Draco and Rita’s mouths dropping open.

For the first time – ever – Rita Skeeter had been rendered speechless.

It was a good look on her.

_Fin_


End file.
